Afraid to Fall
by Whitelighter Enchantress
Summary: 1 of 1 Post Before the Flood. Vaughn's reflections after the accident.


Afraid to Fall

By Whitelighter Enchantress

A/n: This is a one-parter set after the finale. It vaguely contains my (and others') theory of what Vaughn's big secret is, and I suppose it's fluffy. But angsty fluff. I was thinking about writing something like this right after I saw _Before the Flood _and then I read this quote in a book I'm reading for English (by William Styron) and it inspired me to do so.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias, it belongs to JJ Abrams. Props to him for a wicked awesome season finale.

_Angel of God, guardian angel, stay by her side. Angel, don't let her fall!_

He feels as if he does not exist; a ghost drifting among mortals. He pinches himself to see if he dreams. He glances at her face every few seconds to check that she's really lying there. She always is. And he is always beside her, ever since they allowed him to leave his room. A broken arm. All he suffered was a broken bone while she sleeps unconsciously for what feels like eternity. What could become eternity.

Down again he lays his cheek upon the bed, never blinking, never ceasing his watch over her. His one true calling and he has failed, or so he feels. For the second time in his life he is scared that he has lost her again, but unlike the first time, he will not give up hope. So he stays. He holds her hand, he watches her. This is his reaction to his undying devotional duty.

It pains him to see her in this state, yet he cannot physically tear his eyes away. "Wake up, wake up, it's all right," he whispers, a vain attempt. Can she hear him? He wonders. If he tells her everything will she hear it? Or will she only fall farther away from him?

His head is jumbled with regrets and remorse, with humble memories and actions, with ideas, with fears, with prayers. How could he have let this happen? He should have seen it coming, he should have been focused on the road. He shouldn't have let her playful fingers and sugary voice distract him. He should have waited under a stable environment to tell her the truth, to tell her any of it. But he did not. He failed.

Her ring had glittered so under the streaming sunlight of Santa Barbara. He smiled at her as she watched it dance and sparkle in the beams. She was so happy, he had never seen her so ecstatic. Her constant smile simply captivated him; he kept reminding himself to watch the road. God, was he distracted.

She entwined her fingers into his, kissing his knuckles, teasing him before tickling that spot behind his ear. Of course, he never lets on that it tickles him. He finds it so… Pleasing, and enticing. As soon as her fingertips grazed his hair his spine tingled and his stomach flip-flopped as if on a roller coaster. She looked so beautiful smiling– glowing –in that golden sunlight, with her hair in curls and her dimpled grin.

He could see the mechanism of her mind at work, the ideas flowing through her brain. Whenever they made eye contact, he saw it. And then she voiced it, to no surprise. Why bother with the big wedding? Why _not_ elope? He could not say he had not been thinking it himself. He would love to escape the waiting and just have her for his own now and forever. Forever with him, forever under his watchful eye, forever in his protection.

He loved her so much, they continued telling each other. He loved her so much it hurt him. She loved him too much to get hurt again. Her fingers found their way back to that spot behind his ear, he bit his tongue from smiling. He could feel her eyes on him, soaking in his "I love you." Her fingers worked their magic, his emotions overflowing from within. Before he thought he loved her so much that he couldn't tell her, but now, he loves her so much that he must tell her.

He never expected this to happen, their relationship to carry so far. Though he never expected their fighting in the beginning, either. But the love that grew, that surprised him, frightened him, intrigued him. He kept his distance for awhile, playing it safe, making sure he was there for the rough times. The times expanded to moments, the moments expanded to days, hours, minutes, leading to necessity. Mutual necessity.

He could not conceive her reaction, angry? Sad? Nonchalant? Would she accept it as the truth? Would she still love him for him? The look on her face showed deep concentration, a desperate yearning to understand. Her fingers slipped away from his ear.

She began to look angered, her body recoiled away from him slowly. He knew in her mind just how she was perceiving it: he was part of something bad, he had been lying to her all along. He could see her fear prominently displayed on her face. He needed to hurry and explain everything to her, she couldn't be scared, she couldn't be confused. But she had to know the truth.

He never saw the black Jeep coming. It wasn't until he heard the sirens that he knew anything had happened. He muttered her name but heard no response and felt no body beside him. He drifted in and out of consciousness. The sirens gave him a headache; the lights blinded him when his eyelids slipped open. His body was surging with pain and his brain battled confusion. Sydney, Sydney, Sydney…

His mind seemed to awaken before his body. He can remember thinking and asking himself questions before he realized his surroundings. When his eyes finally snapped open, he knew there was a crash. He knew he was alone, and he knew he was in terrible pain. But none of that mattered. Where was Sydney? Was she okay?

He tried to slide his body off the bed, to stand up, but his left leg (which he discovered to be in a brace) could not withstand his weight. Collapsing back onto his bed in frustration, he moved to yank the IV off his finger. It was then he noticed the cast on his left arm, the largest abrasion on his body. There were scrapes and bruises of course, and something seriously wrong with his leg, but he was determined to find Sydney over everything else. He hurled himself against the wall, keeping his weight on the right side, holding on for dear life, dragging himself around the room to the door.

He had hardly escaped before nurses and doctors barricaded him from making it further. They nearly had to restrain him in bed, but they didn't understand. He had to see Sydney. Where was she? What was her status? He demanded answers, and they gave him excuses. "We're still waiting for some results…" Of _what_? "Miss Bristow is in surgery…" For _what_? "I'm sorry sir, you cannot leave your room."

So he waited. Nurses checked on him hourly, maybe even more often. They force fed him. They ignored him when he asked questions about her. For a while, he stopped talking to them. But the questions built up, and his concerns multiplied. It had been possibly a day before he asked what was wrong with his leg, why was it so bruised, why couldn't he stand on it? His morning nurse stood beside his bed, counting out the pain medication. Eager for answers, he reached his good hand out and touched her shoulder. He shocked her, but she refrained from shunning him. Severely bruised, she said, the whole left side of his body crushed between the meshing metals of the cars. This resulted in a broken arm and dislocated knee. Inquiring further about his recovery, he learned his leg would remain in the brace until his ligaments healed over a few weeks, and he would be in a wheelchair while in the hospital. Crutches would follow. His arm would stay in the cast for two months. Physical therapy would proceed both events.

Then a question sprang from his mouth that he was least expecting: what about the other guy? The nurse's answer was quiet and blunt, he died. His mind went blank for a moment. She was about to leave when his senses returned. He stopped her, mustering courage, and asked, "And… What happened to Sydney?"

The nurse paused before the door, turning slowly. She stared at him a moment, reading his desperate face, watching his deeply wrinkled forehead. Sydney was in a coma, the nurse told him. When the ambulance arrived, both he and Sydney had been drifting in and of consciousness. Sydney came to a fully conscious state before he did. They believed she suffered a concussion, but moments later she was out again. Tests at the hospital showed she might have bleeding around her brain. They rushed into surgery and stabilized her vitals quickly, and were lucky to find very little bleeding. But she had slipped into a coma.

He was quiet then, yet the nurse did not leave. "How long?" he asked. The nurse said it had been a few hours, a good recovery was likely, but there was always that chance… Then he begged to see her, he pleaded for her, he cried for his fiancé.

That is how he ended up with her. He sits in a wheelchair beside her bed, his left arm rests in a sling, though they recommend that he elevate it. With his good hand he holds hers, she squeezes it back. Every once in a while she opens her eyes, she sees him, but her facial expression fails to change. She mumbles words at random, he often hears his name. Yet it reminds him: it is not his name.

If­– no, when –she wakes up, will she remember everything he told her? Will she remember that they were in a car crash? Will she remember that his name is not Vaughn? Will she still call him Vaughn if she does remember? He certainly hopes so. He cannot imagine her calling him anything else.

Maybe she has garnered such anger towards him that she won't even speak to him. Is that why she has not awakened yet? Is she afraid of him? That is when he begins to talk to her. He reminds her of how they made it to Santa Barbara, of their plan to elope on the beach, sand between their toes, the mist of the ocean spraying their faces, crashing waves lapping at their feet. He reminds her of how much he loves her, of how he will never hurt her, how he never meant to hurt her, how his only intent was to protect her; her guardian. He does not give her all the details, only what reassurance is necessary for her awakening.

He picks his head up again, briefly wondering how long he has been sitting here, watching her, but he does not check the clock. With every minute that passes his fear of her forever leaving him grows. He holds her hand tighter, bringing her hand to his lips as she had done in the car. He stares at her delicate fingers and trace each one with his thumb. He moves her wrist and molds her hand against his cheek. His face is tender from bruising, and he winces slightly, but he finds the warmth of her hand comforting.

Gingerly he releases her hand by her side and lets his fingers wander up her arm. He tries to touch her shoulder, but his right arm is too far away and awkwardly stretched across his body. Reluctantly he removes his hand from her body for the first time since his arrival, and he turns his wheelchair, edging it forward. In his hand's sudden absence she elicits a groan, and her fingers flex up and down in search of him. He reaches back for her hand, asking, "Sydney?" as he does each time she reacts to something. She mumbles or sighs, he isn't sure, but does not otherwise change.

He retraces his fingers and massages her shoulder, subconsciously hoping it would mobilize her arm to touch him too, and finally works his way up to cup her face. With his pinky he rubs her earlobe, with his index finger he grazes her eyelid, and with his thumb he brushes across her lips.

Though he is not supposed to, he does not hesitate to hoist himself upon his good leg, leaning forward over her and pressing his lips to her cheek. He pulls away and stares at her, a moment of frozen awe, then he adjusts his hand to the back of her hand and lightly kisses her mouth, her nose, each of her eyes, and her mouth again.

He takes hold of her hand and eases himself to a sitting position. After a sigh, he lays his head back down, this time bending her arm and resting her hand on his spot, behind his ear, allowing her fingertips to acquiesce in his hair. His right arm lays across her body, where his hand just wraps around her torso. He closes his eyes in a long blink, opens them rapidly, then closes them in a longer one. Unable to fight the tranquility of his pain medication any longer, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up their relative positions are the same; perhaps her head has tilted in the other direction. He keeps his head where it is but pulls his arm back to stroke her side, to rest on her stomach, to squeeze her body again. He cannot remember his dream, no matter how hard he tries. He recalls vague details, such as Sydney's presence, but that is all. He glances up at her face, struggling to remember. Were they… Flying? Through the clouds, yes. Over the beaches of Santa Barbara. The details flow into memory. He held her beneath him as they soared, her back held tightly to his chest, his arms wrapped around her securely. There was something worrying her, no, something that scared her. It wasn't him, for they were far away from the car crash, far away from his newly revealed secrets, far away from everything. Her fear was simple: she was afraid she would fall. "Don't let me fall, Vaughn," she implored. "I won't," he promised her, "I'm right here."

An undeterminable amount of time passes, and he looks back up at Sydney. Her eyes are open again, her vision locked on her hand resting atop his head. "Sydney?" he asks. Her eyes don't move, though she does blink. He raises his head, carefully setting her hand back onto the bed. Though he isn't satisfied with that, and he pulls her hand up to his cheek, trusting her to recognize the stubble forming along his jaw.

Her eyes are looking directly at him now. They lack her usual sparkle, and he feels incapable of reading her emotions for once. Her fingers twitch against his face; not a jolting twitch, but one more of remembrance.

"Come on, Syd," he urges, staring hard into her face. He does not want her eyes to close again, he wants her to continue watching him, just as he watches her. An intuitive sensations washes over, he must talk to her. He begins to ramble, anything that comes to mind. He retells everything he had said when her eyes were closed, as if she will hear him better now. The thought occurs to him that perhaps she is still frightened. He thinks of his dream; "Don't let me fall, Vaughn," she said.

"Where are you?" he asks her. _Flying_. Is she perhaps still circling the sky? Is she simply lost in the air? He closes his eyes and envisions them soaring together again. Opening them, he realizes she is up there alone. She _is_ scared, he knows, there is no one to hold her up, no one to keep her from falling. He cannot let her be afraid any longer.

"I won't let you fall," he assures. "I'm here." Her fingers twitch against his cheek once more, and she blinks. He holds her hand harder against him, rubbing her skin. "I'm watching you, you don't need to be afraid anymore."

He sees her lips quivering and she groans, struggling to make a sound. "Vaughn," she finally whispers.

Tears form in his eyes and he rubs her hand harder, lacing his fingers between hers. He kisses her palm and gently strokes it across his cheek again. "Yes, Sydney, it's me. It's Vaughn." Something has changed in her when he looks back in her eyes, he now sees a small glint. He feels positive that glint will flourish into a sparkle; a sparkle of hope. She's coming out of it. "It's Vaughn," he says once more, at last convinced that everything will be all right.

Fin


End file.
